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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049072">to love and to learn, respectively</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears'>lightyears</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>who the fuck designed this place? [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bratty!Clarke, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fingering, New Relationship, Professor-Student Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen-Esque Universe, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:08:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049072</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after discovering Miss Griffin is his soulmate — an event that resulted in him fucking her in front of the class he taught — Bellamy takes her on what is technically their first date. Three things become perfectly clear on said date:</p><p>1) Clarke is an absolute brat;<br/>2) Clarke is also an exhibitionist;<br/>3) She has no reservations in using soul-lust to justify either of those traits.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>who the fuck designed this place? [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bellarke smut</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to love and to learn, respectively</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>had to post this in light of bob once again calling eliza his soulmate</p><p>how about that 20 second promo hey, love that for us</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In terms of percentages of motivations, Bellamy’s pretty sure about seventy accounts for Clarke wanting to fuck with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sitting in a corner booth beside her now, the bar she chose scattered with the familiar faces you’d expect in a college town, a wicked, little grin he’s already so familiar with curving her lips, and the hand that seamlessly shifts his to her bare thighs in perfect time to the thrum of old rock playing, the fact is becoming increasingly clear. As is another.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His soulmate is a fucking brat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Given that until a week ago, Bellamy knew Clarke only as a student in his level three art history course — and referred to her exclusively as <em>Miss Griffin </em>in the name of professionalism — it should come as something of a shock. But really, it’s not. With an affinity for going toe-to-toe over his most minor critiques of her essays, a complete disregard in showing bare skin when clearly not having yet discovered her soulmate, and an obvious enjoyment in flirting with her professors, all the signs were well and truely there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s just that, now, those signs have context, and that that context is their being soulmates, this revelation is weighted in the same, heady way everything <em>Clarke </em>is: from the first fifteen minutes, when he learnt the sweet taste of her mouth, the perfect feel of her tight cunt coming on his cock and the sound of her bliss-filled cries; to the days later, when she filled him in on the simple things, like her middle name, or her favourite animal, or whether she preferred tea over coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Elizabeth, giraffe, and yes.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Facts shared easily, that required no thought or consideration, that could be on a Buzzfeed article <em>100 Questions To Get To Know Your Soulmate. </em>All little parts of Clarke that he took in greedily, of course, and answered in kind — but this? This is a different sort of discovery. And Bellamy’s fucking thrilled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clarke,” he says, voice lowering in an attempt of sternness as he watches the usual blue of her eyes growing dark. “You said you were ready to go out tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a reminder that draws a pink flush to her cheeks, because he <em>had</em> warned her about this earlier in the evening, after asking her out on what was — technically, despite having basically lived together for the past week — their first date. Because the thing with soul-lust is, it lasts longer than the first-touch surge, the intensity of primal need ebbing and flowing for a few days after the initial trigger. Porn filmmakers’ gold, basically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For them, it was four spent holed up in his apartment, in an absolute haze of fucking, fucking, and more fucking, before their shared hunger finally began to ease. Another three before it was agreed they’d regained enough control to venture into public for a proper date.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke slipped on a pretty, little dress that shows miles of perfect, bare, <em>inviting</em> skin, and Bellamy put in some contacts — before promptly taking them back out when overhearing grumbles over his lack of glasses. She brought him to a divey-bar near campus, chose a booth in a darkened corner after insisting on paying for the first round of drinks, and made a point — that in hindsight, is pretty fucking funny — <em>to get to know each other.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And to be fair, Bellamy has already learnt a lot about Clarke tonight. That she didn’t take his course out of any interest in history, only the context and significance it provided to her other art classes. That the trace of her fingers on his body after sex is easily translated to doodles on napkins, the hastily drawn version of him — curls messy from the summer heat, from the threading of her fingers; glasses slightly crooked on his nose; mouth tugged into a grin that, even in its roughness, is clearly smug — something Bellamy knows he’ll hold onto for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That she gets stupidly excited over complimentary snacks, inhaling the free peanuts brought to their booth alongside their drinks at a scarily fast rate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That her enjoyment in arguing over inane things extends further than her position as student to his professor, and that when she’s passionate about something her eyes go alight and she gesticulates ridiculously — somehow even more so with the points they agree on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That the same pretty pink that flushes her skin during sex also rises after a couple of drinks. That those drinks draw out her tactility too, her hands threading through his hair and running down his arms, playing softly with his own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And of course, bringing them to rest on her bare thighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And I am,” she says now, the sweet breathiness he’s already so familiar with softening her words, even as her gaze flashes with desire and her smile sharpens into something mischievous. “It’s just, I was thinking about what you said earlier, that you’re going away, and I decided that you need to make it up to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy barks out a laugh. He mentioned next month’s trip to visit Octavia over half an hour ago, and Clarke hadn’t seemed too upset. <em>I think vibrators will still do the job post-soulmate</em> was her exact response, quick and all cheek before she kissed him with a generous amount of tongue and pushed him out of the booth with a request for more drinks. That she’s bringing it back up now — and framing it in this way — only adds weight to his new discovery.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Brat.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Innately, he knows it’s not a product of her age, but instead an undercurrent to this part of their relationship. Something he saw a flash of that first time, when they fucked in front of lecture theatre of onlookers and a certain quality flickered in her blown gaze — a desire to push back against the control he’d taken — and in their haze of fucking since. Something that bleeds into her admitted desire to be taken care of, that sweetens the praise he already knows gets her off. Something that stirs new feelings of his own: a need to meet this part of her with an authority that she seems to crave.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A beat passes as they watch each other closely, that electric intensity ever present between soulmates growing taut, heady.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke raises a brow, her lips quirking, and Bellamy instantly recognises the challenge.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Letting his smile sharpen to match her own, he stops the path she’s guiding ever so slowly up her thigh with the dig of fingers into her soft flesh, just hard enough to assert dominance. “Make it up to you, princess?” He asks, the question a low rumble that somehow adds to the reverence of the pet name. He’s not sure what exactly first drove him to call her that, but he must admit it’s an apt fit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Especially now, as she leans in close, lips brushing over his cheek as she releases a soft, faux-woeful sigh, her thumb smoothing gently — almost placatingly — over the hand grasping her. The floral scent of her perfume invades his senses when that becomes teasing bites of his jaw and up to his earlobe, and Bellamy feels the way his cock stirs as she shifts beside him, spreading her thighs wider, and pulls back with a look that’s all heat and greedy desire.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re leaving me for three whole days,” she says, a soft husk that does absolutely nothing to mask her increasingly clear intent. “All on my own, to fend for myself. So, yeah, I think you need to make it up to me.” There’s an underlying confidence to her words, to her actions, that Bellamy knows stems from the steadying fact that they’re soulmates; precisely made for each other, wired — whether biologically or universally — to fill the spaces the other has made, to be drawn completely into their wants and whims. And when Clarke’s gaze runs over the crowd in the bar, and Bellamy recognises the dark excitement that flashes, that grows, he realises exactly what they are.<em> Another discovery.</em> “Now. Here,” she continues, that earlier, daring edge returning to her voice. “Because, you know. I still need, Bellamy — I just…<em>need.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers the first time she said that to him: <em>I need.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The effect is about the same as it was in the lecture theatre, a responding, primal need of his own drawing to the surface — so compelling he can’t even find it in himself to laugh at what she’s attempting to imply with the words, with the imploring look in her eyes. That this is the product of <em>soul-lust. </em>Phenomena that’s never been documented as lasting a whole week after the initial touch, that, as suggested by its name, overcomes all parties of newly discovered soulmates, not just one, tipsy, worked up brat with an exhibitionist streak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">See? Clarke absolutely wants to fuck with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s behaviour he knows he shouldn’t reward, that sets a precedent she’ll likely take advantage of in the future<em>, </em>but as Bellamy watches the darkening desire in her eyes, the tug of her bottom lip between her teeth, notices the way her breath quickens just slightly as the moment of anticipation draws, he can’t help himself. Shifting closer, he crowds her into the corner of the booth, easing his grip on her thigh to continue the path she was making earlier, hand sliding over her smooth, soft skin to reach the apex of her thighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A soft whine sounds in response, Clarke tilting her hips towards his touch, but Bellamy’s quick to keep her in place, his free hand curling tight at her hip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Miss Griffin,” he says, low and full of heat, allowing the commanding edge he’s perfected in teaching to thread into his voice. “How many times must I tell you: use your words.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her gaze flashes, hunger and challenge bleeding together. “If you insist, <em>Professor</em>. Get me off.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time he does bark a laugh, the directness he’s familiar with as her professor translating so easily to this newer dynamic. “You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” Still, he lets his fingers brush over the damp cotton of her panties anyway, a rush of heat going straight to his cock as he feels the teaser of how wet she already is. “Asking me to take care of you here. Now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A room full of your students watched you fuck me last week,” she says, a slight waver to her voice, one that hints at just how much the memory it turning her on. “Most of them getting themselves off at the same time. I think you can finger me under the table.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That what you want?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a wickedness in her smile, as she settles her hand at the back of his neck, drawing him closer. “To start with,” she says, brushing her nose gently against his own. “Before I let you follow me into the bathroom. Bend me over in there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once they’re back at his apartment, can indulge completely, to the extent that’s quickly becoming clear they both crave, he’ll have to raise all the ways she’s misbehaved tonight. Find a suitable punishment, one that’ll satisfy them both. Here, though, now, all he can respond with is: “Say. Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, Professor Blake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Her fucking mouth.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy claims it as he slips his hand into her panties. Tastes gin and the faint berry of lip balm on her tongue as he spreads her pussy with a single, teasing finger, finding her absolutely soaked. Clarke’s moan runs into the heat of the kiss, her impatience clear as she tries to speed it up, turn it into something desperate and messy — an attempt to have him match the pace with his fingers, Bellamy knows, but he doesn’t let her. While she’s gotten her way in having him get her off now, the very fact gives him a power he can use, keeping the kiss firm and steady, his fingers too: just the slow slide over her wet slit, each upstroke allowing him to give her clit just the slightest of attention. Pressing a little harder, a little longer, with each pass, until he can feel her anticipation in the tightness of her body, the perfect shiver that runs through her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s only then that he gives her more, drawing the leg pressed against him over his thighs, opening her up to ease the finger he slides into her. He curls it to hit that sweet spot quickly, some relief to his unhurried indulgence, his cock twitching as he feels just how tight she is, just how wet she is, knowing how good he’ll feel sinking into her later tonight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Bellamy can wait. Now, his attention needs to be on his princess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He works her up slow, minutes drawn with long, deep kisses and the rhythm of just one finger, before he adds a second. Stretches her with a nice back and forth motion in preparation for the third, which comes with a soft whimper that breaks their kiss, Clarke pulling back as he begins to finally quicken his pace, her eyes hooded, her mouth worked red and puffy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck, <em>finally</em>,” she whines, soft and a little broken, the snark Bellamy’s sure she was attempting lost to the perverse enjoyment clearly overcoming her, for being teased like this, when she sought to be worked up hard and fast.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Careful, princess,” he murmurs roughly. “With that attitude, I’ll leave you here aching and desperate.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s an empty threat, but one bolstered by well-feigned conviction drawn once again from his time teaching, and Bellamy watches the way Clarke’s eyes flash in response, as she debates the merits in challenging him further, risking the promise of closening release.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ultimately, submission comes in the form of a quick nod, husky words said with an effort that’s palpable: “I’m sorry. Thank you, and please keep going.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His smile is sharp and ridiculously smug, but Bellamy doesn’t care. Hearing his fucking brat of a princess both apologies, and express appreciation, is so gratifying it draws a physical response, heat rushing through him, his cock growing harder beneath his pants. He’ll enjoy bending her over later, fucking her hard and proper, the way the hunger alight in her gaze tells him she needs — but for the moment, a different reward will hold her over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adding the grind of his palm against her clit does the trick, Clarke’s eyes fluttering shut as her head drops forward to rest against his shoulder, fingers digging sharp at the back of his neck, and when he quickens his pace working her cunt again, fucking her on his fingers in earnest, it’s a combination that coaxes a moan from her, louder than he’s sure she intended, even with this exhibitionist streak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flicking his eyes over his shoulder, Bellamy quickly runs them over the dim bar, and — yep, someone definitely heard her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl is about Clarke’s age, a familiarity to her that suggests she’s a student he’s seen on campus. Someone Bellamy would consider cute, if it weren’t for the hooded attention focused sharply on them, the smirk that tugs at her lips — adding enough edge to her softer features that she is well and truly <em>hot</em>. Hot, and evidently aware of exactly what’s going on in this not-quite-as-hidden-as-he-thought booth, taking a pull of her drink before tipping it subtly in their direction, the raise of her brow a clear challenge: <em>And what are you going to do if I watch?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy feels the wickedness of his grin as he returns his attention to Clarke.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ve drawn someone’s attention, sweetheart,” he murmurs, shifting the hand curled at her hip to instead thread through her hair. Pulling her up to direct her gaze over his shoulder, to their one-woman audience. “Think she’ll enjoy watching you come as much as everyone else did?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” Clarke says, her cunt clenching down around his fingers. “Harper? She already has. We fucked at a frat party once.” Bellamy feels the shiver that runs through her at the memory, and when she returns her eyes to him, he recognises the flare of brattiness before she even continues. “She’s already seen me come, Professor. So I know first hand how much she enjoys watching girls fall apart.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not quite jealousy, the hot, sharp feeling that surges within him at her words — closer to possessiveness, a primal feeling that resoundingly says <em>mine.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing that would make him shield her from being seen — especially now, knowing that it gets her off — instead, drawing a need to make her come, hard and fast and because of <em>him. </em>Let Harper watch, let anyone fucking watch; he knows just how gorgeous Clarke looks falling apart, and he wouldn’t deny anyone the sight, so long as he’s responsible for it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crowding closer, Bellamy begins fucking her on his fingers without relent, letting the pressure to her clit match the intensity.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another broken moan falls from her worked lips, Clarke’s gaze blown with heat and need as it’s drawn naturally back to him — just as his always is to her — and Bellamy leans in to taste it, catching her mouth as she begins to lose herself, letting the kiss turn hot and desperate. He works her with sharp intent, heady satisfaction stretching through him as he feels her draw closer and closer to release, her pussy beginning to pulse around his fingers, her hips rocking to chase his touch — and when she breaks, body pulling into tight shudders, a sharp cry breaking their kiss, Bellamy feels it all over. The pleasure and release of his soulmate a visceral connection that’s weighted more than even the greedy clench of her cunt, or the rush of slick arousal that meets his fingers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He guides her through the intensity of release as he’s learnt she likes best, keeping his pace until she crumbles into him completely, chest moving with uneven breaths, body sinking soft and sated against his own, only then slowing his fingers to ease them from the warmth of her pussy. It gives him the extra hand needed to pull her properly into his lap, and it’s ignoring the perfect shift of her ass over his aching cock that he trails soft kisses over her lips and cheeks, smooths his hands over her heated skin, until her eyes finally flutter open and she looks at him with the kind of fucked-out bliss he’s already coming to adore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leaning in, he presses a soft, brief kiss to her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How was that, princess?” He asks, voice low and roughened, a combination of satisfaction in coaxing her to this state, and his own need now drawn hot and greedy to the surface.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clarke’s hum is soft and sweet, at complete odds with the darkness in her eyes. “Perfect, <em>Professor</em>. You really know how to treat a girl.” Her hands shift to run through his curls, nails scratching at him as she wriggles in his lap, the purposefulness of the movement evident in the wicked, little smile she gives him. “And it seems you’ve worked yourself up a little bit, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bellamy smirks. “Just waiting to follow you to the bathroom, princess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Gaze flashing, Clarke’s entire face lights up with a resurgence of heated excitement. She lingers only long enough to rock playfully against his cock, before shifting to Bellamy’s other side and sliding out of the booth, an unsteadiness when she stands that’s gratifying. “Let’s see if you beat Harper to it,” she says, husky, goading, her lips twitching at whatever look he makes in response — something he’s sure reflects that returning swell of possessiveness. “Because after that show, I think she’ll be itching to join in.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If that’s true, I better get used to racing other people to various semi-public places.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her expression is all trouble, her eyes darkening with desire as she offers him a last, teasing look. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sway of her hips is all for show as she turns around and begins moving through the bar, as is the little, flirtatious wave she gives Harper in passing. Her smile, though, as she looks back over her shoulder to where he’s still sitting in the booth, softened, but still fucking full of mischief, is all for Bellamy — a challenge if he’s ever seen one.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lasts fifteen seconds before following.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed!! comments &amp; kudos are very much appreciated</p><p>fic aes <a href="https://bisexualbellamyblake.tumblr.com/post/617420386606383104/to-love-and-to-learn-respectively-explicit-34k">here </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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